The good thing about my scars – ha, ha – the only good thing about my scars, is that when my friend stitched me up, she made a professional job of it. Being a nurse, she knew how to treat them so that the wounds healed quickly and with little disfigurement; leaving me with a rather – some might say – contented charm.
My husband, on the other hand, was never a medical man; and consequently – when he had his own little incident – the DIY stitching he attempted on himself was not quite so elegant.
It made me physically gag; the turgid silence as he dug the thick leather needle into his ripped cheek muscles and dragged it through the other side. He wouldn't allow me to help; I'd managed to clean him up, but then he'd pushed me away – made me sit in the corner of the room and watch as he mended himself. When he was done, he had examined his work in the mirror; the threads pulling at his jowls, straining, dimpling the pale skin around the raw flesh as he worked his face into a grin. Absolute satisfaction had painted his features ever since.
Still – in my case at least – it meant that with four layers of foundation I was able to cover my Chelsea Grin adequately enough for an appearance on CNN that night. Now, as I forced the cold tears from my eyes, and endured relentless questioning about my marriage to Gotham's greatest terrorist; it appeared that I had only a bad case of eczema adorning my cheeks. Obsessive viewers had phoned in and asked who exactly he was; why I was adamant to spawn his iniquitous offspring. Of course I had just squeezed out more tears, and finished with an award-winning panic attack on screen – ending my interview short.
A dense crowd swarming the television studios gave grounds for the managers to worry frantically for my wellbeing (or theirs) and were somewhat keen to issue me with a police escort home.
I followed the officer through snatching hands and erratic flashes of camera light, before collapsing thankfully into the back of his car.
My breath finally returned to me as we drove off and disappeared round a corner.
'Well – I have to hand it to you, sweetheart...'
The officer pulled off his decorated cap with a free hand.
'You don't disappoint!'
I watched quietly as The Joker shook out the blonde and tangled mane he'd had shoved under the hat. He let out a shriek of laughter and hit the steering wheel.
My eyes were weary and heavy with sleep when I blinked.
'They seemed to enjoy it -'
I leant back against the head rest for a second and gave-in to the dull throb at the front of my head.
'Of course they did; such guile, such pathetic neediness – you were fantastic doll!'
The car swung hard round the corner as we headed towards the city's main police station. My skull cracked against the door frame, waking me from my moments of rest.
'Oww – take it easy!'
'YE-HE-HE HA!!'
I was caught by the glint of his green eyes in the rear-view mirror. The tilt of his hysterical features revealed a naked countenance; exposed flesh without a hint of his usual make-up. Those eyes: those eyes were Jack's – the creases leading to his brow, the wisps of blonde on his forehead, the high cheek bones: that – was my husband.
'Why so serious, sweetheart?' His tongue darted over his lips out of habit 'Aren't you pleased with how it went?'
'Ecstatic...' I yawned and turned my face away, gazing blankly out of the tinted windows.
It wasn't until the car had slowed to a stop that I realised where we were.
'Shit…' The Joker hissed through gritted teeth.
'Why are we stopping outside the station?' I pulled myself forward in my seat, straining to see out of the windscreen.
'Road block – they're checking cars...'
'We're in a cop car for Christ's sake – why'd they wanna stop us?!'
'Just keep quiet will you? I'm not in the mood for killing anyone today – we'll just slip past; come back for them tomorrow...'
I felt the wink more than saw it.
We rolled slowly towards the three officers who were directing every other vehicle to one side of the road. Our hearts seemed to be rising in sync as one of them spotted the official car. My fingers tightened on The Joker's padded shoulder, regardless of knowing how ridiculous I would feel later.
'Cool it, doll – sit back n' relax...'
The approaching officer nodded a salute as my driver played along, cracking open his window in reply so that only the top of his face was visible.
'Hey buddy – how're you doing? You mind if I take a quick look in the back? Just hot on security at the moment – no doubt you've heard about the compulsory checks...'
The Joker inclined his head curtly and released my window.
The cop continued his nauseating pleasantries right up until the moment my window disappeared into its hilt.
'Jesus, it's you – the Joker's Mrs! Ha! Benny was just talkin' bout you! So what's the deal, babe – why's he so fucked up?'
He leant further into the car, edging me back in my seat.
'Could he not handle it: you a bit too feisty for him? We're gonna have trouble on our hands when that brat of yours is born...'
The barrel clicked round in its chamber, stopping the cop mid-sentence. I could see the colour physically drain from his face as he stared at me, totally perplexed.
'That's no way to talk to a lady...is it...?'
The Joker nudged the cop's temple with his gun.
'Nnmm...'
'Be a good kid and keep your mouth shut then. Just move us a long nice n' smoothly and we'll forget about this little run-in...'
The youngster nodded. Carefully he withdrew from the window and let it make its ascent.
I glanced out the back to see the kid still stood in the centre of the road as we pulled away through the traffic; his body visibly weaker than before. An uncomfortable smile spread itself across my lips.
'Ahh...so she's enjoying the chase at last...'
He was looking at me in the mirror again; studying my wayward expression with a cackle.
'It's exciting, isn't it? Living without rules...'
I frowned, stiffening slightly.
'I've been working your back-street deals for the last eighteen months – it's nothing new to me...'
'Ah – but you've never been this close to the action, have you Sammy...?'
'Don't call me that -'
His smile twinkled in the mirror.
'I think you're gonna like what I have in store for us, Sam...I think you're gonna find it – invigorating...' He let the wheel spin in his hands as he chuckled gently to himself.
For a second, hope had glimmered in my heart that he had meant us – as husband and wife – us, together. This hope, however, soon gave-way to the burning realisation that it was strictly business he was speaking of. There was no 'us' anymore; just me and him. Freaks, in a world full of madmen.
We were driving for about twenty minutes: fifteen of which I had been asleep. I was surprised that he had allowed me some time of peace; some time to let my heart regain its normal pace before the next episode of his perfectly-figured plan.
My eyes were hazy and sore when I finally opened them. I could hear my name being repeated; chanted like a mantra.
'Sam...Sam...Sam...Sam...Sam...SAM...!'
'What?!'
I barked as my conscious slammed back to reality. The Joker had propped himself between the two front seats of the car and was now leering through the middle at me. He grinned.
'We're home, sweet-cheeks...'
I couldn't help but flinch at his sing-song lyrics.
'Home...' I snorted at the irony and started unbuckling my seat belt.
'Uh – listen; I got a little, appointment – with some people...' He cleared his throat and then clucked; apparently discomfited by the inconvenience 'Soo...you go in and get settled – I'll only be an hour...'
His tongue glided quickly over his lips whilst he finished with a deft smile.
My blank stare said it all.
'Whatever...'
One of The Joker's cronies had sloped from the alleyway and opened the car door for me.
'I'll see you later – just, don't...fuck anything up...yeah...?' I gave him a tight, pleading smile and went to close the door.
'Wait – Sam...'
I sighed wearily and ducked back in.
'You got a pen?' He mumbled into his sleeve.
My bag was quickly and carelessly raided before I pulled out what I could find.
'No...I got a pencil...'
'Yeah – that'll do...'
